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Tuesday, December 3, 2013

The Obligation to Endure

Rachel Louise Carson (1907-1964)

Originally published in Silent Spring (1962)

The history of life on earth has been a history of
interaction between living things and their surroundings. To a large extent,
the physical form and the habits of the earth's vegetation and its animal life
have been molded by the environment. Considering the whole span of earthly
time, the opposite effect, in which life actually modifies its surroundings,
has been relatively slight. Only within the moment of time represented by the
present century has one species—man—acquired significant power to alter the
nature of his world.

During the past quarter century this power has not only
increased to one of disturbing magnitude but it has changed in character. The
most alarming of all man's assaults upon the environment is the contamination
of air, earth, rivers, and sea with dangerous and even lethal materials. This
pollution is for the most part irrecoverable; the chain of evil it initiates
not only in the world that must support life but in living tissues is for the
most part irreversible. In this now universal contamination of the environment,
chemicals are the sinister and little-recognized partners of radiation in
changing the very nature of the world—the very nature of its life. Strontium
90, released through nuclear explosions into the air, comes to the earth in
rain or drifts down as fallout, lodges in soil, enters into the grass or corn
or wheat grown there, and in time takes up its abode in the bones of a human
being, there to remain until his death. Similarly, chemicals sprayed on
croplands or forests or gardens lie long in the soil, entering into living
organisms, passing from one to another in a chain of poisoning and death. Or
they pass mysteriously by underground streams until they emerge and, through
the alchemy of air and sunlight, combine into new forms that kill vegetation,
sicken cattle, and work unknown harm on those who drink from once pure wells.
As Albert Schweitzer has said, "Man can hardly even recognize the devils
of his own creation."

It took hundreds of millions of years to produce the life
that now inhabits the earth—eons of time in which that developing and evolving
and diversifying life reached a state of adjustment and balance with its
surroundings. The environment, rigorously shaping and directing the life it
supported, contained elements that were hostile as well as supporting. Certain
rocks gave out dangerous radiation, even within the light of the sun, from
which all life draws its energy, there were short-wave radiations with power to
injure. Given time—time not in years but in millennia—life adjusts, and a
balance has been reached. For time is the essential ingredient; but in the
modern world there is no time.

The rapidity of change and the speed with which new
situations are created follow the impetuous and heedless pace of man rather
than the deliberate pace of nature. Radiation is no longer merely the
background radiation of rocks, the bombardment of cosmic rays, the ultraviolet
of the sun that have existed before there was any life on earth; radiation is
now the unnatural creation of man's tampering with the atom. The chemicals to
which life is asked to make its adjustment are no longer merely the calcium and
silica and copper and all the rest of the minerals washed out of the rocks and
carried in rivers to the sea; they are the synthetic creations of man's
inventive mind, brewed in his laboratories, and having no counterparts in
nature.

To adjust to these chemicals would require time on the scale
that is nature's; it would require not merely the years of a man's life but the
life of generations. And even this, were it by some miracle possible, would be
futile, for the new chemicals come from our laboratories in an endless stream;
almost five hundred annually find their way into actual use in the United
States alone. The figure is staggering and its implications are not easily
grasped—500 new chemicals to which the bodies of men and animals are required
somehow to adapt each year, chemicals totally outside the limits of biologic experience.

Among them are many that are used in man's war against
nature. Since the mid-1940's over 200 basic chemicals have been created for use
in killing insects, weeds, rodents, and other organisms described in the modern
vernacular as "pests"; and they are sold under several thousand
different brand names.

These sprays, dusts, and aerosols are now applied almost
universally to farms, gardens, forests, and homes—nonselective chemicals that
have the power to kill every insect, the "good" and the
"bad," to still the song of birds and the leaping of fish in the
streams, to coat the leaves with a deadly film, and to linger on in the
soil—all this though the intended target may be only a few weeds or insects.
Can anyone believe it is possible to lay down such a barrage of poisons on the
surface of the earth without making it unfit for all life? They should not be
called "insecticides," but "biocides."

The whole process of spraying seems caught up in an endless
spiral. Since DDT was released for civilian use, a process of escalation has
been going on in which ever more toxic materials must be found. This has
happened because insects, in a triumphant vindication of Darwin's principle of
the survival of the fittest, have evolved super races immune to the particular
insecticide used, hence a deadlier one has always to be developed—and then a
deadlier one than that. It has happened also because, for reasons to be
described later, destructive insects often undergo a “flareback”, or
resurgence, after spraying, in numbers greater than before. Thus the chemical
war is never won, and all life is caught in its violent crossfire.

Along with the possibility of the extinction of mankind, by
nuclear war, the central problem of our age has therefore become the
contamination of man’s total environment with such substances of incredible
potential for harm – substances that accumulate in the tissues of plants and
animals and even penetrate the germ cells to shatter or alter the very material
of heredity upon which the shape of the future depends.

Some would-be architects of our future look toward a time
when it will be possible to alter the human germ plasm by design. But we may
easily be doing so now by inadvertence, for many chemicals, like radiation,
bring about gene mutations. It is ironic to think that man might determine his
own future by something so seemingly trivial as the choice of an insect spray.

All this has been risked – for what? Future historians may
well be amazed by our distorted sense of proportion. How could intelligent
beings seek to control a few unwanted species by a method that contaminated the
entire environment and brought the threat of disease and death even to their
own kind? Yet this is precisely what we have done. We have done it, moreover,
for reasons that collapse the moment we examine them. We are told that the
enormous and expanding use of pesticides is necessary to maintain farm
production. Yet is our real problem not one of overproduction? Our farms, despite measures to remove
acreages from production and to pay farmers not to produce, have yielded
such a staggering excess of crops that the American taxpayer in 1962 is paying
out more than one billion dollars a year as the total carrying cost of the
surplus-food storage program. And is the situation helped when one branch of
the Agriculture Department tries to reduce production while another states, as
it did in 1958, “It is believed generally that reduction of crop acreage under
provisions of the Soil Bank will stimulate interest in use of chemicals to
obtain maximum production on the land retained in crops.”

All this is not to say there is no insect problem and no
need of control. I am saying, rather, that control must be geared to realities,
not to mythical situations, and that the methods employed must be such that
they do not destroy us along with the insects.

The problem whose attempted solution has brought such a
train of disaster in its wake is an accompaniment of our modern way of life.
Long before the age of man, insects inhabited the earth – a group of
extraordinarily varied and adaptable beings. Over the course of time since
man’s advent, a small percentage of the more than half a million species of
insects have come into conflict with human welfare in two principal ways: as
competitors for the food supply and as carriers of human disease.

Disease-carrying insects become important where human beings
are crowded together, especially under conditions where sanitation is poor, as
in time of natural disaster or war or in situations of extreme poverty and
deprivation. Then control of some sort becomes necessary. It is a sobering
fact, however, as we shall presently see, that the method of massive chemical
control has had only limited success, and also threatens to worsen the very
conditions it is intended to curb.

Under primitive agricultural conditions the farmer had few
insect problems. These arose with the intensification of agriculture – the devotion
of immense acreage to a single crop. Such a system set the stage for explosive
increase in specific insect population. Single-crop farming does not take
advantage of the principles by which nature works; it is agriculture as an
engineer might conceive it to be. Nature has introduced great variety into the
landscape, but man has displayed a passion for simplifying it. Thus he undoes
the built-in checks and balances by which nature holds the species within
bounds. One important natural check is limit on the amount of suitable habitat
for each species. Obviously then, an insect that lives on wheat can build up
its population to much higher levels on a farm devoted to wheat than on one in
which wheat is intermingled with other crops to which the insect is not
adapted.

The same thing happens in other situations. A generation or
more ago, the towns of large areas of the United States lined their streets
with the noble elm tree. Now the beauty they hopefully created is threatened
with complete destruction as disease sweeps through the elms, carried by a
beetle that would have only limited chance to build up large populations and to
spread from tree to tree if the elms were only occasional trees in a richly
diversified planting.

Another factor in the modern insect problem is one that must
be viewed against a background of geologic and human history: the spreading of
thousands of different kinds of organisms from their native homes to invade new
territories. This worldwide migration has been studied and graphically
described by British ecologist Charles Elton in his recent book The Ecology
of Invasion. During the Cretaceous Period, some hundred million years ago,
flooding seas cut many land bridges between continents and living things found
themselves confined in what Elton calls “colossal separate nature reserves.”
There, isolated from each others of their kind, they developed many new
species. When some of the land masses were joined again, about 15 million years
ago, these species began to move out into new territories – a movement that is
not only still in progress but is now receiving considerable assistance from
man.

The importation of plants in the primary agent in the modern
spread of species, for animals have almost invariably gone along with the
plants, quarantine being a comparatively recent an not completely effective
innovation. The United States Office of Plant Introduction alone has introduced
almost 200,000 species and varieties of plants from all over the world. Nearly
half of the 180 or so major insect enemies of plants in the United States are
accidental imports from abroad, and most of them have come as hitchhikers on
plants.

In new territory, out of reach of the restraining hand of
the natural enemies that kept down its members in its native land, an invading
plant or animal is able to become enormously abundant. Thus it is no accident
that our most troublesome insects are introduced species.

The invasions, both the naturally occurring and those
dependent on human assistance, are likely to continue indefinitely. Quarantine
and massive chemical campaigns are only extremely expensive ways of buying
time. We are faced, according to Dr. Elton, “with a life-and-death need not
just to find new technological means of suppressing this plant or that animal”;
instead we need the basic knowledge of animal populations and their relations
to their surroundings that will “promote an even balance and damp down the
explosive power of outbreaks and new invasions.”

Much of the necessary knowledge is now available but we do
not use it. We train ecologists in our universities and even employ them in our
government agencies but we seldom take their advice. We allow the chemical
death rain to fall as though there were no alternative, whereas in fact there
are many, and our ingenuity could soon discover many more if given opportunity.

Have we fallen into a mesmerized state that makes us accept
as inevitable that which is inferior or detrimental, as though having lost the
will or the vision to demand that which is good? Such thinking, in the words of
the ecologist Paul Shepard, “idealized life with only its head out of the
water, inches above the limits of toleration of the corruption of its own
environment…. Why should we tolerate a diet of weak poisons, a home in insipid
surroundings, a circle of acquaintances who are not quite our enemies, the
noise of motors with just enough relief to prevent insanity? Who would want to
live in a world which is just not quite fatal?”

Yet such a world is pressed upon us. The crusade to create a
chemically sterile, insect-free world seems to have engendered a fanatic zeal
on the part of many specialists and most of the so-called control agencies. On
every hand there is evidence that those engaged in spraying operations exercise
a ruthless power. “The regulatory entomologist … function as prosecutor, judge
and jury, tax assessor and collector and sheriff to enforce their own orders,”
said Connecticut entomologist Neely Turner. The most flagrant abuses go
unchecked in both state and federal agencies.

It is not my contention that chemical insecticides must
never be used. I do contend that we have put poisonous and biologically potent
chemicals indiscriminately into the hands of persons largely or wholly ignorant
of their potentials for harm. We have subjected enormous numbers of people to
contact with these poisons, without their consent and often without their
knowledge. If the Bill of Rights contains no guarantee that a citizen shall be
secure against lethal poisons distributed either by private individuals or by
public officials, it is surely only because our forefathers, despite their
considerable wisdom and foresight, could conceive of no such problem.

I contend, furthermore, that we have allowed these chemicals
to be used with little or no advance investigation of their effect on soil,
water, wildlife, and man himself. Future generations are unlikely to condone
our lack of prudent concern for the integrity of the natural world that
supports all life.

There is still very limited awareness of the nature of the
threat. This is an era of specialists, each of whom sees his own problem and is
unaware of or intolerant of the larger frame into which it fits. It is also an
era dominated by industry, in which the right to make a dollar at whatever cost
is seldom challenged. When the public protests, confronted with some obvious
evidence of damaging results of pesticide applications, it is fed little
tranquilizing pills of half-truth. We urgently need an end to these false
assurances, to the sugar coating of unpalatable facts. It is the public that is
being asked to assume the risks that the insect controllers calculate. The
public must decide whether it wishes to continue on the present road, and it
can do so only when in full possession of the facts. In the words of Jean
Rostand, “The obligation to endure gives us the right to know.”

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